


Conviction Flight

by out_there



Category: West Wing
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-17
Updated: 2004-12-17
Packaged: 2017-10-07 15:52:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/out_there/pseuds/out_there
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>He hopes that sincerity will be enough to forgive his lack of originality, his lack of eloquence.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Conviction Flight

**Author's Note:**

> Vaguely post-S4. Thanks to [](http://simplelyric.livejournal.com/profile)[**simplelyric**](http://simplelyric.livejournal.com/) for betaing. When you can't find a title, the handy-dandy [random band name generator](http://www.bandnamemaker.com/d/generate/repeat=0) is always your friend.

Sam's sitting and thinking. Most of all, he's staring out the window, watching clouds flicker by. They're… flawed isn't the right word, but it almost is. They seem flawed up close. From far away, they appear magical. Above and below him, the clouds look white and fluffy, like snow, like cotton candy, like a hundred other clichés that spring to mind.

But when the plane flies through one, they're just damp, cold fog.

Sighing, Sam shifts in his chair, picking his cell phone out of his pocket. He's tempted to turn it on, to ignore the stewardesses' warnings. Not to make a call, but maybe to send a text message.

Am coming home.

Need, no… Want, no… Miss you.

Be there soon.

Of course, it's not as if Sam couldn't have said those things already. It's not as if he hasn't had the chance.

Within the last twenty-four hours, he's ignored the phone constantly. He ignored the high pitched ring so often that he ended up silencing it, just to get some sleep. He could have picked it up, could have said the words, but a day ago, half a day ago, a couple of hours ago, he wasn't sure of what he wanted to say.

Now he knows. He knows the words; he knows the sentences. He knows the clichés and the trite metaphors he'll use. Better than that, he knows why. He's still a little confused -- he'd be lying through his teeth if he said he wasn't -- but he knows what he wants. It's been years since he's been able to nail that down with any clarity. It's been even longer since what he really wanted was just one person.

He shies away from thinking about it too much. He's *sure*, absolutely certain, but he's a little frightened of talking himself out of it. If he thinks about it too much, if he turns his words into a well-practiced speech, he might lose his nerve. That's why he hasn't called. This is the type of thing that has to be said in person so it's clear that he means every word, every overused cliché.

He hopes that sincerity will be enough to forgive his lack of originality, his lack of eloquence.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback can be left here or on [Livejournal](http://community.livejournal.com/inthetallgrass/128208.html?mode=reply).


End file.
